


Rent-A-Romance

by Thomaddicted



Series: Sterek Valentines Week 2021 [1]
Category: Sterek - Fandom, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cheesy Rom Com Sterek, Cussing, Hallmark Romances, Human AU, M/M, Multi, PG13 stories, Romantic stories, Some Adult Elements, Sterek Valentine Week, Supernatural Elements, no sex just fluff, werewolves are known
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29283864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomaddicted/pseuds/Thomaddicted
Summary: Derek Hale is a rich successful Alpha male, able to have anything he wants, except for maybe love.After swearing off love for numerous years, Derek feels loneliness creep into him, so he decides all of his problems lie in a website that rents out companions for people. After choosing a companion, Derek waits for a newfound friend, and winds up finding so much more.In the vein of "Pretty Woman", "Can't Buy Me Love", and any movie where some rich guy's solution to love is falling in love with a sex worker, comes a Rom Com nightmare with no sex, but a fabulous recipe for pierogi.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Sterek Valentines Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150535
Comments: 16
Kudos: 137
Collections: Sterek Valentine Week





	Rent-A-Romance

**Author's Note:**

> First in the series for Sterek Valentine Week, 2021
> 
> Prompt: Hopeless Romantic  
> Rating: PG13(Strong Language, Adult situations,)

Derek Hale watched the clock on the wall of the living room, as the hands inched closer to 6pm. He swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand and reassured himself that this was all normal. It was, really. To a point. This was just an evening’s arrangement, an evening of companionship highlighted by a gourmet dinner, which was heating in the oven, per his chef’s instructions. 

Being rich and sexy and powerful were all wonderful things, but they could also be terribly isolating things, as Derek knew. It’s why things like rent boys and escorts were quite common for him in his early twenties, but after a few years of it, he grew tired of the empty, emotionless sex, and opted do just go solo, forsaking any kind of companionship at all. Now, he just needed something for tonight. He didn’t need sex, he wanted… needed… a date.

Said date came from a web site he stumbled across earlier in the month, “Rent a Romance”. To Derek, the conceit was quite brilliant. The idea of these escorts being that sex was an option, but these guys were specifically focused on emotional, romantic connection, but without the entanglement of emotional feelings that would tie one down. Derek hated to admit it, but he missed that emotional romantic connection most of all. The backstabbing, the cheating, the betrayals, the using him for money, he could do without any of those. More than that, he just didn’t want to be hurt again. Not if it could be helped, and thanks to this website, it would not be a problem.

Derek was at a point in his life where he didn’t want problems, didn’t want complications. As it was, Derek hated Valentines’ Day with a passion that almost bordered on the homicidal. The idea that someone HAD to have someone on that day to prove some sort of arbitrary worth was ridiculous. The idea that love even existed seemed to be lost on Derek, not for lack of trying. He’d tried several times, across different genders and the best he managed to come up with was being comfortable living alone. So that’s what he did, successfully. Still, a lot of times, and often at night, he wondered if on this overpopulated planet, there might exist someone that “fit” with him. It’s why it took him nearly a week to pick the right person on the site, reading interests and hobbies, reviewing pictures and generally selecting the one person who would be an ideal match for the night.

Just a companion for the night. That’s all it was.

Derek had spent a long time deciding between several different guys, but really, it could be said that his mind had been made up when he saw the third picture in the lineup of around 30 eligible prospects. Better than anything else, this guy was free for Valentine’s Day. 

Derek entered all his information into the website, paying for the “Companion Care” package. The following week seemed to take months to pass before Valentine’s day drew nearer. Then once the day came, Derek almost didn’t want it anymore. 

Before he could decide on cancelling, the concierge of his building buzzed him. 

“A visitor for you, Sir.” 

Derek swallowed the entirety of his drink, then buzzed his guest into the penthouse.

The knock on the door was polite and succinct, and Derek opened the door with only a hint of nervousness. The man standing on the other side of the door was handsome, boyish, and lean. His eyes were a gorgeous chocolate amber, and his lips curved into a sweet, but professional smile. 

“Hello. My name is Stiles.” He extended his hand to Derek, who flushed at how large and warm Stiles’ hand was compared to his own, which seemed to have gone cold. 

“Derek. Derek Hale, please. Come in, Stiles.” 

Derek moved to the side, allowing Stiles to walk into the penthouse. Derek had chosen the building because it was the nicest in Beacon Hills, with the best view of the city. Not that there were many penthouses in Beacon Hills, but Derek had been bred and raised to demand the best, since his family could afford the best, so the best it was, ever since he was 12. 

“Cozy.” Stiles said looking around at the sterile, minimalist décor of the place. There was a sitting area, with an austere loveseat, and two armless chairs. A low coffee table sat between them, and a small radio sat to the side. There was a stark dining room with a large mahogany table and eight tall back chairs.It was set for two. 

“It’s very surgical theater. Should I fear for my kidneys? Is there a chainsaw in the bedroom?” 

Derek blinked twice. 

“It was a joke.” Stiles said, flushing. “Sorry.”

“No!” Derek raised his brows, then laughed nervously, his answer delayed. “No, I mean… this is… just… It’s not like, a place I really live. I just stay here when I’m in the city.” 

Derek’s not sure why he’s so nervous. He’s paying this guy to like him, after all. “I’m only IN the city for a couple of weeks at a time, most of the time. So, I just need a place to crash. No sense in…” 

“Is something burning?” Stiles asked, sniffing the air. 

“FUCK!” Derek barked, causing Stiles to jump almost a foot into the air. Derek scrambled into the kitchen, and flung open the oven, all but howling when he burned his hands trying to take out the smoking platter. 

“Fucking FUCK!” Derek screamed as the dish clattered to the floor. Stiles was there in seconds, helping Derek up. 

Derek clutched his hands to his stomach, as Stiles turned on the tap for the cold water. “Come here, let’s get those cooled.” Stiles gently guided Derek over, and eased the hot hands from where Derek had them coiled. Gently, Stiles held them under water, and Derek winced. 

“Just keep these here, kay?” Stiles coached, as he turned to the floor, carefully picking up the now cooled pan, and carefully scooping up the food on the floor. 

“Dude, you don’t have to do that…” Derek objected, but Stiles had already cleaned most of the mess up. Derek was pissed. A couple hundred dollars’ worth of a gourmet dinner ruined. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any petroleum jelly. Vaseline maybe?” Stiles asked as he used a dish towel to wipe the rest of the mess from the floor. 

“What, to eat?” Derek asked, a quizzical expression on his face.

“No.” Stiles chuckled. “For your hands.” Stiles stood from the floor, and went to the sink, washing the detritus from the rag. “If you don’t, then butter works in a pinch.” 

Derek looks lost. 

“I take it you don’t have the jelly?” 

Derek sighs. “I don’t even have the butter, really.” 

Stiles blinks. “Okay.”

Wringing out the now rinsed rag, Stiles sets it to dry, hanging it off the oven, which he turns off. He then takes another towel and folds it in half. He finds the fridge, and is not shocked to find that there is ice available, along with some booze and little else inside the freezer. Taking a few cubes of ice, he sets them in the rag, and gives it to Derek to hold. Stiles then opens the fridge. 

“Desolate city.” Stiles whistles. “I’m guessing you don’t cook much?” 

Derek shakes his head. “Cook’s night off. He gets what he needs fresh from the store daily. I’ll usually grab something from someplace fancy for dinner.” The ice is melting in the rag, soothing the burn of his hands. Stiles whips out his phone.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks. Stiles taps away furiously at the display. The younger man looks up at him, a slight smile on his face, and his large eyes twinkling under the kitchen lights. Something in the them makes Derek’s gut tremble, in a good way, and he doesn’t know how to feel.

“Just a little shopping.” 

An hour later, the concierge buzzes a new visitor in, and Stiles greets him at the door, slipping the delivery guy a cash tip, even though he’s added a 10% gratuity on the app when he paid. 

“Why did you give him extra?” Derek asks, watching as the guy leaves. Stiles walks back into the penthouse carrying two large bags. 

“Why not?” Stiles responds, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. "It's a sign of appreciation for people. Especially people who may live paycheck to paycheck." He opens one of the bags and pulls out a large tub of Vaseline, then sets it on the counter, along with some butter, onions, garlic, a few potatoes, and a small bag of flour. 

Derek’s hands were cooler, and Stiles opened the petroleum jelly, scooping up a glob, and gently setting it into Derek’s hand. 

“Just let that warm up a little bit. It’ll soften then you can spread it around.” 

Derek stared at the yellowish lump in his hand as Stiles unpacked the other bag. The younger man moved around Derek’s kitchen with relative ease, finding bowls and utensils, and pulling what he needed from cupboards and drawers. 

“You certainly know your way around a kitchen.” Derek remarked, as the gel in his palm softened. He gently moved his still sore fingers, feeling the skin spark with some pain. 

“I grew up needing to know. Plus, your chef obviously worked for a chain restaurant, cause the kitchen is laid out in a similar way. Everything easy to access.” Stiles set up a workstation for himself, then walked over to Derek. “Here.” He said, carefully taking Derek’s wrist and slowly, gently, began to rub the now softened substance over Derek’s hands. 

Derek felt a giddy rush as Stiles stood closer to him than he allowed most people to get, physically or figuratively. Stiles had long, graceful fingers and they moved with a fluidity that Derek envied, even as dull pain throbbed in his palms. Soon, both of Derek’s hands were coated in gel, and Stiles’ head was almost pressed to Derek’s as he finished. “There.” Stiles said, moving back slightly, looking up at Derek. “Better?” 

Derek didn’t trust his voice for once. He nodded, feeling a fluttery swoon in his stomach as Stiles grinned at him. 

Stiles washed his hands and immediately started on dinner. He turned on his phone, which Derek could see was a bit cracked and battered on the back case, and chose a playlist on a music app. A bouncy pop tune filled the kitchen as Stiles set the potatoes to boil and began to mix what looked like a batter for chocolate cake, pouring some out into small ceramic pots. Then, he scooped out some flour, dumping it into a large, clean bowl, making a well, adding eggs and milk, mixing it into a dough with one hand. 

Derek was transfixed. He really hadn’t even watched any of his cooks work before. Most of them just prepared his breakfast, maybe a lunch and a dinner for him when he wasn’t working. It was just Derek, so it wasn’t like he needed much. Watching Stiles work was mesmerizing. The fingers that handled him almost lovingly moments ago were now skillfully mixing and rolling out the dough. Now they were chopping onions and garlic, sautéing them in butter, pulling out potatoes, checking their texture. 

“Are you a chef?” Derek asks, careful not to set his hands on anything, seated on a stool in his own kitchen, a room he rarely ventured into, normally. He felt as out of place as he knew he looked. 

“No.” Stiles grinned, as music filled the air. “I grew up doing a lot of the cooking in my home. I did work in some commercial kitchens, but I’m really just a college student.”

“What do you study?” Derek asked. 

“Criminology.” Stiles said, adding the softened potatoes into the garlic and onions, and adding a few spices from the kitchen pantry. “Interested in becoming a detective or federal agent.” 

Derek raised his brow. “Wow. So… why are you…?” Derek makes a gesture between them. 

Stiles scoffs. “Sex work is work. Like any other job, it has avenues to work with, and besides, Stiles grins as he stirs cottage cheese, of all things, into the potato mixture before returning to the dough, rolling it out. “It’s something that one, I enjoy, and two, I happen to be good at, so why not?” Stiles looks at Derek as he rolls out the dough. 

“Besides,” Stiles continues, “It’s actually not all sex. Some of it, most of it, really, is me just keeping guys’ company. Doing stuff exactly like this.” Stiles takes a bit of the potato mixture on a fork, popping it into his mouth, before adding some black pepper. 

“What are you making?” Derek asks. 

“Pierogi.” Stiles answers, scooping a bit of filling onto the fork, and offering it to Derek. “Stiles’ style. It's an old family recipe that I improved upon.” The older man looks at it then at Stiles. Looking back to the fork, Derek studies the filling. He’s not a super picky eater, but this seems a lot more… rustic than what he’s used to eating. 

“Go ahead.” Stiles coaxes Derek, smiling as the man opens his mouth, and more so at the look of sheer delight as the filling obviously pleases Derek. 

“Holy shit.” Derek mumbles. “That is fucking amazing.” 

Stiles says nothing but begins to cut the dough, and begins to assemble the dish, spooning a small amount of filling into a dough square before folding it, and crimping the ends tightly with the tines of a fork. 

“I’m guessing you don’t eat stuff like this often, or at all, going by that body.” Stiles says, mindfully working. 

Derek has barely recovered from the smooth, velvety, textured filling he’s swallowed. The spices dancing with the fragrant and crisp bits of garlic, the shocking sweetness of the onions (one of his least favorite things), and the gentle resistance of the cottage cheese. It’s unlike anything he’s ever tasted. 

“Well, yeah.” Derek says after swallowing. I spend a lot of my time running my family’s properties, and yeah, I work out a lot to look good, so there’s not really a place for anything too fatty or carb focused.” Derek looks around. “Um… I hate asking, but can I get some water?” He holds up his still greasy hands. Stiles grins and gets Derek a glass of water from a filtered tank in the fridge. He pops a straw into it, found while scavenging the cupboards earlier. Derek leans down and sips. 

“Thank you.” He smiles at Stiles.

“So what business are you in?” Stiles asks, as he finishes the last of the little dough pouches, then adds water and salt in a pot. He puts a few pierogis in at a time, boiling them in small batches. 

“I run my family’s properties, do some land acquisitions. Stuff like that.” Derek watches Stiles work, his body seeming to relax a bit more. “My older sister runs the stock side of things with my Dad.” 

“How old are you?” Stiles asks, fishing a few floating gems from the pot, and setting them in a small, clean bowl. 

“29.” Derek responds. “You?” 

“21.” Stiles says, adding a few more raw pierogis into the pot. He glances at Derek. “I know, I look a lot younger.” Stiles blushes. “It helps a bit with this line of work.” 

“How… how did you get… into this… work?” Derek finds himself wanting to ask, but nicely, about everything. 

“I kinda fell into it. I once answered an ad for a companion, and it was actually an older man who really just wanted a companion. Nothing sexual, just an older man who was alone. I actually…” Stiles pauses, then shuts himself up. Derek feels a slight change in Stiles’ energy. “After that ended, I looked into some companies, and I found Rent a Romance, and that all kinda took care of itself.”

Stiles continued as he fished out, and then added more tiny bundles. “I usually just provide companionship. Closeness, connection, cuddles. Occasionally someone wants more, but not often. I know my body really isn’t to everyone’s… I’m an acquired taste.” Stiles shrugs. “It is what it is, but I like what it’s become.”

“Which is?” Derek pauses as Stiles fishes out another batch. 

“A great way to meet people, but not have to get too close.” Stiles says. Derek gets the message.

Derek watches as Stiles let’s the bundles rest, then takes a bag of chocolate chips, placing them in a glass bowl, which he sets on top of the pot of still simmering water. Derek watches as Stiles creates a velvety chocolate pool, then adds to the pots, before he sets the small containers of cake mix onto a tray, placing that into the oven. Once again, Stiles sautés butter in a pan, with some leftover onions. He adds the pierogi, and turns them all into crispy, browned, bundles of joy. 

Stiles pours a glass of wine for Derek, and one for himself, setting another straw into the glass. Derek scoffs as it’s not an actual wineglass, but there’s so much charm in what Stiles is doing, that Derek finds himself enamored. 

Sitting at the kitchen island, Derek watches as Stiles takes a fork, and takes a warm pierogi from the pan of browned butter and onions, and offers it to Derek. “Open.” Stiles says, softly. He blows on the morsel, before popping it into Derek’s mouth. 

If it’s possible to orgasm from eating something, Derek just might, right now. The dough is thin and perfect, the filling as heavenly as it was from the pan. The tangy sweetness of the onion, mixed with the velvety butter, combined with everything is sending Derek’s brain into overdrive. He may never go back to no carb diets ever again. 

Stiles grins as he watches Derek eat, popping a pierogi into his own mouth every once in a while, but fully content to watch Derek enjoy what is obviously a rare treat. After every bite, Stiles dabs Derek’s lips with a linen napkin. There’s a comfortable silence between them, broken only by a soft, “Mmmm” from Derek every few bites. 

After the pan has been emptied, Stiles wipes Derek’s mouth again, and leaves him to the wine. Stiles clears the kitchen and washes the few dishes he’s used, when the oven timer dings, causing Derek to look around with an unfamiliar look on his rugged face. Stiles chuckles softly because Derek is too cute like this. “Choco-pots are done.” Stiles says, opening the oven to peek. 

“You made what now?” Derek asks, almost in a food coma. 

“These are a comfort food of mine.” Stiles says. “Thought they might go good for tonight.” 

Stiles pulls the tray out, two ramekins inside are crowned with cake batter that has pillowed up past the rim, the centers soft and creamy looking. They smell divine and Derek is already salivating in anticipation. Stiles sprinkles a tiny bit of salt over the top and glances as Derek.

“Do you have any place in this museum that is remotely comfortable to sit?” 

Derek’s bedroom is a far cry from the rest of the penthouse. Where the rest of the house is silver and white and chrome, Derek’s bedroom is dark wood tones, red velvet and deep hunter greens. The bed is a king sized sleigh in the center of the room, with bedside tables at each edge. The foot of the bed has a large bench on a storage box, and there are several pillows on the bed, atop the ornate burgundy duvet, threaded with gold and amber strands. Opposite of the bed is a large wall mounted television, with cabinets underneath. A small couch sits next to a wingback armchair, both facing a large picture window with the shades open, offering an unparalleled view of the city at night. 

Derek gestured to the couch, where Stiles sat. Derek’s hands were still a little greasy, as Stiles had insisted on another coat of Vaseline before wrapping them in gauze. “They should be better by the morning. Not healed, mind you, but… better.” Stiles looked at Derek, as he spooned a glorious mix of chocolate pot into Derek’s mouth. 

“Does it ever get, you know, weird?” Derek asks. 

“Does what ever get weird?” Stiles responds, though he knows exactly what Derek means. 

“Like, all this. Do you ever fall in… love, you know?” Derek feels his face flush. 

Stiles purses his lips again. “You try not to think of things that way when you’re doing something like this. Connection is a lovely thing. I think more people need it but are afraid to ask for it in their lives.”

Derek nods. “But have you?” 

Stiles spoons some dessert into his mouth, and does the same to Derek, and it sort of tells Derek all he needs to know. Stiles swallows his dessert and Derek does the same, before Stiles speaks again. 

“I think connection is a great thing. It can be romantic, or it can be platonic. Moreover, I just think that people like to be hopeless romantics, but there’s little practicality in that.” Stiles says, looking out the window. 

“What do you mean?” Derek asks, shifting in his seat, as Stiles continues to spoon feed him. 

“Hopelessness has no place in romance.” Stiles says. “To me, hopeless romantic means that there’s not a point where you obtain it, just chase after it, endlessly. That’s… not ideal for me.” Stiles pauses. “Or should it be for anyone.” 

Derek watches as Stiles shifts in the soft light of the bedroom. 

“But that’s what love, and romance are, isn’t it?” Derek counters. “These fleeting, unattainable things that no one really gets to have, permanently.” 

Stiles shook his head. “I think in the case of a hopeless romantic, yes. That’s why I consider myself a 'hopeful' romantic.” Stiles spooned more sweets into Derek. “I’m not looking for a perfect anything. I’m just looking for what’s perfect for me.” 

Derek nods. “And what is that?” 

Stiles looks at Derek, as if to size him up. He eats a spoonful of dessert and looks away.

They sat and talked more while they ate, Derek feeling his guard drop a little lower every minute Stiles was there, until desserts were finished, and the wine was drunk, and in no time at all, they were watching the twinkling stars, with Derek’s head on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Thank you.” Derek says, his voice soft. “This is… this is really nice.” 

“Of course.” Stiles says, his hand starting to creep to Derek’s hand before he realizes it is mummified. Instead, Stiles reaches his hand up, and slowly, softly strokes Derek's fuzzy cheek, listening to the contented, almost pained sigh that Derek exhales.

“I think….” Derek begins, but stops himself. He doesn’t say more, and Stiles doesn’t press him. 

“You wanna watch TV?” Stiles asks.

Stiles takes the moment to head back to the kitchen, while Derek turns on the TV, trying to find something to watch. Setting the used dishes into the sink, he runs the hot water, and puts away all of the utensils and flatware used, then wipes the other things clean, and sets everything away, essentially erasing all traces of him having been there. 

After he is done, he heads back into the bedroom, to find Derek laying on the bed. His shirt and his shoes are off, and he’s flipping through channels as if they’re some old married couple and the thought makes Stiles warm, before he completely cuts it off. Don’t get too attached, Stiles scolds himself. These are moments, not milestones. Seasons, not stations. 

Derek looks at Stiles and gestures to the open side of the bed. “Please.” He says, get as comfortable as you want.” The companion package does not explicitly include a cuddling service, but Stiles decides that this is… negotiable. He does feel…. Something. With a capital “S”.

Stiles removes his tie and opens his shirt, his white ribbed cotton undershirt beneath is damp with sweat. He kicks off his shoes and crawls into the large bed, stopping just short of laying next to Derek. The older man says nothing, but continues to flip from channel to channel until they land on old reruns of "The Golden Girls." 

“Yes!” Stiles hisses under his breath. Derek smiles and leaves it on the channel, half watching the show, and half drinking in Stiles. There’s the scent of Stiles, musky and almost woodsy. Stiles smells great to Derek, and he’s sure he can pick up the slightest trace of cologne. It’s intoxicating. 

Then, there’s Stiles’ body. The site offered several pictures of the models both clothed and naked. Stiles body was not what Derek would normally pick. For escorts, Derek usually chose guys who looked like they lived in the gym, all angular muscles and bodyfat the level of skim milk. Stiles isn’t very different from them, but he also is very different from them. There’s a slight roundness, a softness to Stiles that draws Derek in, a curve of belly and the chest a little soft. Stiles’ chest is smooth, however the rest of him is quite hairy and that makes Derek… warm inside. Knowing where all of Stiles’ hair was on his body and wondering if it all smelled as good as Stiles does now. Derek wants to lay Stiles on the bed, strip him down, and bury his nose in every crevice Stiles has to offer. 

Of course, Derek didn’t pay for that service because he didn’t think he’d want that. He got the companion package, which was essentially, Stiles comes over, pretends to take an interest in Derek, and then pretends to be his friend for the night. The thought rankles Derek as he realizes that Stiles is just pretending. Derek sighs. Of course, Stiles is pretending. That’s the whole point of tonight. Derek has to rent someone because he is too damaged to love, too fucked up in his head and his heart. How many times has he heard it from others? Derek Hale is bad at feelings. Derek Hale only cares for himself. Why WOULD anyone want to love Derek Hale, girl or guy, or ANY gender, at all? 

Derek swallows a lump in his throat. Then he feels it again, Stiles’ hand on his forearm, fingers curling gently, holding on to him. Derek shudders softly and surrenders. I’ll just pretend too, Derek thinks, I’ll just pretend that I can do these things, because I want them, and I want this guy…

“You okay?” Stiles asks, and his voice, his tone, sound so concerned, so genuinely concerned. Derek nods, but doesn’t say a word. They lay against each other, continuing to watch TV, as time ticks by into the night. Derek knows that Stiles should be gone by now. The companion package is only for a few hours, but Stiles stays with Derek, who is somehow now curled into Stiles’ side. Stiles has his arm around the older man. Derek’s head is rested on Stiles’ chest and Stiles is running his fingers through Derek’s hair. The action alone makes Derek drowsy. He feels contented, safe. Loved. 

He falls asleep on Stiles, holding him. 

The next morning, Derek is unsure anything was real. Maybe he hallucinated the whole thing. He even hallucinated burning his hands, because even though the skin is still tender, the bandages are off now, curled into piles on the floor of the bedroom.

Stiles is not in his bed. Stiles is not in the penthouse. Derek runs to the kitchen, where he finds his chef, Isaac, making Derek’s breakfast. Obviously, Stiles cleaned the kitchen, so there’s no trace of last night’s dinner. There’s not even trash, cause someone’s thrown it out. There are only some eggshells, and cuts from some fresh herbs on the counter, and a used pan in the sink. 

“Everything okay, Sir?” Isaac asks, as he plates Derek’s meal. Isaac does his best to hide his shock, he’s never seen his employer this way. Derek Hale never sets out of his room in the morning without being dressed in his finest, hair perfectly set.

“Fine.” Derek says. He’s aware that he looks like a madman in this moment; not wearing anything but his sleep pants, and his always perfectly coiffed hair is a shambles. 

“Breakfast will be ready shortly, Mr. Hale.” Isaac announces, and begins to brew Derek’s coffee. 

Derek paces his room. He’s got to get it together. It was just a night together. One single night together that was paid for, and it doesn’t mean a damn thing. Derek needs to just let it all go. It’s pointless to try and make anything happen out of nothing because nothing happened last night. Only, Derek doesn’t want to let this go. Doesn’t want to think he’s woken up alone again, that he’s slept alone again. Doesn’t want to think that no one pampered him and held him and comforted him last night. 

The only proof Derek has that he wasn’t alone for Valentines’ Day (for the fifth year in a row), is the fact that Stiles’ scent is still on the sheets. Derek plants himself face down in the middle of the bed. The scent is there, and Derek wants to keen because it’s so comforting, so sexy. Derek inhales deeply, holding the pillow that Stiles slept on and squeezing it tightly. 

In the back of Derek’s mind, behind the eyes he has squeezed shut, Derek begins to piece together what the combination of alcohol and desperation has stolen from him.

Something happened. Yes. Somewhere in the middle of the night, something happened. He’s sure of it. His memory is groggy from too much food and too much wine, but he remembers kissing. Soft, sweet kisses on his neck. Or Stiles’ neck. One of their necks got kissed, or maybe both. Or did it happen at all? 

Derek ruts his hips into the mattress. Kisses. Maybe… touches, definitely. Derek knows because he was shocked that Stiles had been so much bigger than him, there. Derek knows that there was a moment he was scared, but Stiles didn’t press… didn’t demand, just… let Derek have him. Have his way with him in the darkness of the bedroom, in the middle of the night and Derek… fuck! 

Derek gets into the shower. He’s checked the site, and Stiles DOES exist, and there’s a financial transaction that says Stiles WAS in fact in the apartment from 6pm to 9pm, which Derek knows is bullshit, because in his head, there’s an image of Stiles in the dawn, getting dressed and leaving while Derek is still snoozing away. 

Opening the app, Derek adds a tip to the account Stiles has on there. He makes it a decent one since he’s sure the company probably takes a cut of that as well, and Derek remembers what Stiles had said about the tip, and if that tip is five full figures that 's fine because Stiles was worth every penny, and more besides. Derek already misses him, misses his smile, and laughter and oh that food! So Derek decides to make another appointment for the weekend. Only he can’t. 

Someone has booked Stiles for the entire weekend, then the week following. And the week after that Stiles is booked as well, and the week after that... 

Derek all but throws his phone across the room.

In the month that follows, Derek is his usual cheerful self, which is to say he is more evil and insufferable than he has ever been in 29 years of his life. He has almost burned down his kitchen twice trying to replicate the simple, peasant dinner Stiles made for him. Isaac is at a complete loss when Derek tries to talk him through how to make each thing. Even when Isaac does finally manage to succeed, it’s not the same. 

Nothing is the same. 

Food doesn’t taste as good. Things don’t smell the same. In a fit of jealousy, Derek hires not one, not two, but THREE rent boys and destroys them all simultaneously, as if to prove a point. HE is the Alpha, HE is the man. HE calls the shots. HE doesn't need ANYONE.

HE is also quite miserable. 

It’s not until the end of the month that Derek sees that Stiles’ schedule has an opening, and he books it immediately, then his heart sinks. 

“Transaction unavailable. Companion not found.” 

Shaking his head, Derek tries again, and again, and again.

“No. No, no, no, no, NO!” Derek screams at his phone, refreshing it over and over again, only to be met with the same message. 

This time, he does throw his phone, so hard that it shatters into pieces when it connects to the wall. 

As Derek drives to his nearest cell phone provider’s hub, his father’s voice rings though his head, scolding him. “Never miss an opportunity to close a deal. That’s what life is, deals and risks.” 

Derek steers his jet black Camaro into the shopping center. Normally, he’d order a phone, and have it delivered, but since everything, including his passwords, were on his phone, he just opted to swing by and pick something new up. Besides, Derek despised being made to wait, especially now. 

Parking next to a battered up, powder blue Jeep held together by what looked like duct tape and sheer force of the owner’s will, Derek exited his car and walked inside. He almost passed out when he saw Stiles in there, through the windows. Derek silently walked into the store. 

“Well, that’s fine and all, but I only really want to replace this phone.” 

Stiles was haggling with the very bored looking salesperson, who if Derek knew anything, was trying to upsell Stiles. 

“And if you upgrade to this plan….” 

“Like I said,” Stiles calmly responded, “I can’t afford to upgrade to any plan. I’m between jobs, and I can barely afford the phone replacement, which is why I'm trying to add it to my bill...” 

“Well, you’re also behind on your payments, Sir." The clerk enunciates mockingly. "You can’t add anything to the bill if it’s overdue.” 

Stiles looked like he might cry. His old phone was in front of them, the display fully cracked and the back held together with some familiar looking duct tape. Derek’s throat immediately tightened. He walked up to the desk, standing behind Stiles and addressing the clerk.

“How much is owed?” Derek said, immediately getting out his wallet. 

Stiles spun around, his eyes wide as he saw Derek standing there. Stiles looked very different, his hair having been buzzed short, and he was dressed in normal, almost shabby looking clothes. He looked nothing like the debonair, playful guy that spent the evening with Derek almost two months ago. 

“There’s a matter of two months late, plus fees, plus…”

Derek pulled out his gold card, handing it to the clerk with the air of Derek Hale, businessman. “I want you to put the balance on that, and whatever phone and accessories are requested. Also, I need a new phone. And if you guys want to make a good commission, drop the attitude. For God's sake you only work in a fucking phone store.” 

The clerk’s eyes widened at the name on the card. “Right away Mr. Hale.” 

Stiles looked at Derek wide eyed. “You didn’t have to do that.” He whispered to Derek once the cashier sped away. Stiles cheeks are cherry red to match the tips of his ears. 

"I wanted to, and I'll do it again if I please." Derek said, buttoning his suit jacket. He looked at Stiles. "If that's okay with you, that is." 

Stiles flushed. "I mean... thank you. That's what I should be saying. But also, yeah, thank you. I hadn't intended on Superman swooping down on me and saving the day." 

"You're welcome." Derek says, and he means it fully. He's so relieved to see Stiles, he'd buy this building and these workers, JUST so Stiles could fire them. 

Stiles looks and Derek and a soft grin spreads across his face. "Maybe we can talk about repayment, later?" 

Derek grins back at Stiles. "Actually. I was thinking maybe we can talk about it..."

Suddenly, a pair of clerks appear, and cheerfully approach the two. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hale! We are happy to get you anything you need.” 

“I need another phone, similar to the one I had last time. I’ll also need one for my assistant.” 

Stiles looks at the clerks, then looks back at Derek. They stare at each other for a moment, but no one says anything. 

Luckily, the clerks are interested in making a dollar today. “What kind of phone does your assistant need?” 

In the parking lot, Derek and Stiles lean on their cars. They could not look more different in the light of the day, now dressed in what Derek feels is a closer version of their real selves. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Stiles says, still blushing. 

“I wanted to do that.” Derek said. 

“Why?” Stiles asks. His eyes are almost a different animal in the daylight, and Derek sees more nuance in them than he ever could in the light of his penthouse. 

“Cause.” Derek said. He rarely has to explain why he does anything, and realizes that his entire life he’s just gotten what he’s wanted. He wants this now…. But what if it doesn’t want him?

The thought almost makes him spiral. 

“I…” Derek begins, but can’t find any kind of wording that sounds right. “I was hoping… maybe I’d see you again.” He licks his lips, and blinks. “I just… I didn’t know how to….” 

Stiles shifts his weight and looks around. “That… ummm, there’s a reason… but…” 

Derek wants to reach out to Stiles because he looks stressed. He wants to hug Stiles, to comfort him the way he was comforted that night when Stiles made him feel alive for the first time in years. 

“Are you… ummm, free? For lunch, maybe an early dinner?” Derek holds his breath, waiting for Stiles’ reply.

Stiles looks into Derek’s eyes. He bites his lips together, as though he doesn’t trust his own voice, and nods, vigorously. 

“Great!” Derek smiles, and Stiles almost melts at the sight of it, those two slightly prominent front teeth giving Derek a softness that Stiles almost can’t deal with right now. 

There’s a coffee place and a sandwich shop in the same shopping center, but Derek wants neither. Really, he wants Stiles to cook for him again, but despite his entire life being an exercise in commanding people to do things for him, he feels like he can’t ask Stiles for this, especially since he’s just picked up the new phone for him. 

This really is uncharted territory for Derek. Stiles is looking up at him with an almost golden glow on his face. 

“I’m… if you…” Stiles gestures. “Live down that way, if you wanna maybe go to my… place?” 

Derek follows Stiles into the Stilinski home, where Stiles lives with his Dad, who is at work. The home itself is nice. A few months ago, Derek would have called it “shabby”, or if he was more polite, “lived in”. 

Stiles hangs his keys on a wooden rack, shaped like a key, where two lone pegs wait for their mates, and sets his bag containing his new phone gently on the couch. “Please. Come in, make yourself at home.” 

The living room has a pair of comfortable looking couches, and a mismatched old recliner that Derek knows must belong to Mr. Stilinski. A coffee table sits between them all with old magazines on top, next to a newspaper. Derek isn’t sure he’s even seen a newspaper in years. 

Stiles sits on the couch, and Derek opts for the smaller loveseat, almost cooing at how plush and comfortable it is under his ass. 

“Thank you.” Stiles breaks the silence between them again. “For the phone, and… everything.” 

Derek nodded. “I’m glad I could help.” He paused. “I don’t… expect you to do… anything… for it…” 

Stiles looks at Derek incredulously for a moment, as Derek turns crimson, before letting himself smile as Derek backtracks. “That is to say… you know… you don’t… OWE me anything, Stiles. I did that cause I…” 

“I understand.” Stiles nods, his own ears going pink again. “I really… I do.” 

Derek swallows the lump in his throat. “I… I don’t know what happened, but… I really… I really liked…” Derek gestures between them. “I know… you probably get that a lot in your work…” 

“I don’t work there, anymore.” Stiles blurts out, surprising himself. “I… can’t… work there…”

“Did… something happen?” Derek treads carefully. “Did I…. do anything… bad?” 

Stiles shakes his head. “I had to stop.” Stiles regards his hands, and toys with his fingers. “I guess…” Stiles looks up at Derek, sighing. “I couldn’t separate…. My work from my feelings.”

Derek nodded. “Oh.” He replied. 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded. “I had an appointment the day after yours and I couldn’t… I didn’t want to do it, but I had to cause… I was contracted to serve.” 

Derek feels a prickle of sweat on his back. 

Stiles continued. “And three days into things, I was… with him, and I just kept thinking… I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be…. with him.” Stiles says the last part with certainty. Derek nods. 

“So, I broke my contract. And that… was a bad thing.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably. 

“I basically caused them to have refund the client, and then had to pay my own expenses to them on top of that, and once that was all done, I was left with very little.” 

Derek felt himself go furious first, then twist when he realized that it’s been a while since Stiles was with him. 

“Did you… get the tip I sent?” 

Stiles nodded. “I did, thank you. That’s how I haven’t gone broke and starving.” 

Derek nodded. At least he did that right. 

“I’ve been looking for work, but there’s a surprising dearth of people who are willing to hire former sex workers.” Stiles sighed. 

“Work for me.” Derek blurts out. “Let me help. Let me take care of you.” 

Stiles looks at Derek, almost sadly. “I can’t let you do that.” 

"What's to let?" Derek asks. "I do happen to need an assistant, but, maybe not like you'd think." 

Stiles raises one eyebrow skeptically. 

"This is not a sex thing." Derek says. "Okay, maaaayyyyybeeeee it can be if you're into it, but only if you are expressly into it, but.... Stiles, I don't know what it is that happened, but... I loved everything that happened. I'd like for it to happen again. I'd love for it to happen on a daily basis if you're okay with that."

Stiles closed his eyes and smiled. "You... liked me?" Stiles opens his eyes and looks into Derek's earnest face. "Like, enough to want me to stay?" 

Derek nods. "Be my live in assistant, my friend, my lover, my anything you want. You can write your own ticket, just... my life feels like it got so much better in the one night you were a part of it, and when you weren't there... I could see everything wrong with me, what was missing in my life." Derek pauses. "But that only works if YOU want to be a part of my life. YOU have to tell me you're okay with this." 

Stiles sighs. "If.... I were to say... no?" 

Derek's face falls. "I'd have to deal with that then." Derek feels his heart drop. He's had to deal with failure a few times in his life. He knows he could go on, but... he'd rather go on with Stiles, and tells him so.

Derek is on the floor, kneeling in front of Stiles. Derek has not ever knelt, to anyone, ever in his life. 

“I want to, Stiles. Even if you don’t… want to continue with me, that way.” A hitch catches his Derek’s voice. “I… I don’t… know what happened… that night. But something happened. Between us.” 

Stiles nodded. “Yeah. You got a little drunk and we… ummm… I mean… we did a lot… yeah.” Stiles flushed a deeper red. “We… we did some nice stuff.” 

“You felt it too, our connection?” Derek asks. Stiles nods. 

“Do you think… maybe we can make it… go somewhere?” Derek looks up at Stiles. “I know… I’m not perfect.” 

Stiles leans down, and kisses Derek, catching the man off guard. Derek responds, pulling Stiles into him. 

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek. “Perfect isn’t real. Perfect is just what is right for us.” 

“Us?” Derek says, a smile coloring the tone of his voice.

“If you want there to be an us…” 

“I want.” Derek buried his face into Stiles neck. “I want everything. But only if it’s with you, and only if you want it as much as I do.” 

“I do.” Stiles said, “I want to give you everything you want.” 

“Really?” Derek ran his nose up Stiles’ neck, stopping at his ear. 

“Yes.” Stiles gasped. “Anything you want.” 

Derek lets his hands slide down Stiles’ sides. “You know what I really, really want?” 

Stiles grins as he feels Derek’s hands settled just above his butt. “Tell me, stud. Tell me what I can give to you.” 

Derek leaned into Stiles’ ear, his voice soft, and needy. “I really, really want you to make me pierogi again.” 

Stiles laughed. “And choco-pots?” 

Derek growled hungrily. "Oh God, yes Stiles... I want you to feed me... I want you..." Derek kisses the lobe of Stiles' ear. "To feed me.... carbs."

“How about some chicken and dumplings, and warm…” Stiles kissed along Derek’s jaw. “Buttery, fluffy biscuits…” Stiles kissed until his lips were at Derek’s. “From scratch.” 

Derek kissed Stiles. “Marry me.” He gasped. “Cook for me first, then I’ll fly us to Vegas…” 

Stiles chuckled. “One thing at a time.” 

Derek kissed Stiles, feeling the relief of the scent, the comfort, the kiss. 

"And if you ever want me out..." Stiles pauses. "Just..." 

"Never." Derek declares, softly. "I've been alone far too long, and it's worked for me. Now... now I want you." 

"And my cooking?" Stiles grins. 

"And romance." Derek kisses Stiles' neck. "Romance would be something new to me." 

Stiles sighed. "Well, why rent when you can own." He smiled and pulled away from Derek. "Come on. You can help me make dinner. My dad will be home later, and he'll want to meet my future husband." 

Derek grinned. After all these years as a lone businessman, he is looking forward to his first real merger.


End file.
